


I'll Kiss All of Your Wounds Away

by Chelliebelle2468



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Abusive Parents, Aged-Up Character(s), Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bisexual Richie Tozier, Comfort, Depression, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Hurt, Love Confessions, M/M, Reddie, Short, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 09:34:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12956406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chelliebelle2468/pseuds/Chelliebelle2468
Summary: "Fuck, Eddie. I love you too…and I want to believe that…I really do…But after what happened tonight, I feel like you might say anything to give me 'proof’ that this life is worth living"Eddie bit his lip, and thought.Proof?Fine, Eddie would give him proof.





	I'll Kiss All of Your Wounds Away

Richie padded down the stairs only to be smacked in the face with the sour, putrid smell of vomit.

“Fucking great”, he mumbled to himself. He walked quicker, hoping to avoid the inevitable.

Richie opened a cabinet and started to rummage around, hoping to find something, anything, to eat that was easy to grab quickly, so he could dart back up the stairs and lock himself away in his room again.

No such luck.

Leaning against the kitchen door frame, half-lidded, and partially covered in her own vomit, was his sad excuse for a mother, Maggie Tozier.

She scowled and gestured at him with the beer bottle in her hand.

“What the fuck are you doing in the cabinets, Richard? I swear, you’re going to eat us out of house and home.”

Richie gritted his teeth, and tried not to bait her. He knew where it would lead.

Seventeen years of the same crap had taught him that. But he was hungry and tired, and his patience threshold wasn’t particularly high at the moment.

“That’s so damn hilarious considering I haven’t eaten in 2 days, since someone spent the grocery money on booze”, Richie spat out, without turning to face her.

Richie could feel the anger radiating off her in the seconds before she spoke.

“What did you say to me, you little shit?”  

Richie slammed the cabinet shut, and decided to resort to what he knew best to try to defuse the situation. Sarcasm.

“Nothing, Maggie. I’m just making yet another sly attempt at stealing your best tupperware. Damn, foiled again.” He turned on his heel, hoping to make a quick exit.

Just then, Richie heard a loud crack and the sound of glass shattering.

If you blinked, you might have missed it.

Richie pulled his hands to his head, trying to make sense of the searing pain on his scalp.

He ended up on the floor, his back to the kitchen wall.

Suddenly, as he put his hands in front of his face, it processed. Shards of glass.

His mother had chucked the beer bottle at him, and she had more than met her mark

“You selfish, ungrateful little child. You think you’re so funny, and you’re so smart. Well, you wouldn’t have fucking anything if it wasn’t for us!”, she yelled at him venomously. She seemed entirely unconcerned it the trickle of blood now running down from his hairline to his neck.

His head throbbed, and he looked up at her. Richie could feel his heart pounding, the adrenaline making him quick to speak.

“What do you mean ‘us’?! As if you spend your money on anything but alcohol! Shit, we both know that your husband pays for nearly everything!”

She chuckled low and shook her head at him.

“You fucking waste of space. You think you’re special, Richard? Newsflash; you’re the abortion that should have been. But noooo, your father wanted a family so bad. We had hoped at least we would have a daughter. HA! You were true to character from the start….a God damn disappointment.”

Richie wanted to tune her out, he really did.

He really wanted to believe in the old adage “Sticks and Stones”. But right now, he felt like melting into the linoleum tile and dissolving away into oblivion.

The drunk grabbed a new bottle of beer and popped the top off on the counter.

She took a long swig and began again as Richie stood to his feet.

“Hmm, it’s ironic really. Now even your father regrets you. Why do you think He’s away on business 21 days of every month?” She stumbled over to the doorway again, glanced at the glass mess on the floor, and scoffed.

Then she shuffled away to leave Richie alone at last.

Richie ran up the stairs so fast and shut the door so hard that the walls shook.

Richie wasn’t about to give that bitch the satisfaction of seeing him cry.

He began to sob so hard that he started to dry heave.

Snot ran down his face and intermingled with the mostly dried blood trail from the slice on his scalp. He haphazardly wiped at his face with his jacket sleeve and buried his face into his pillow to scream.

Richie didn’t know how long he stayed in his room with his muffled screams and cries filling the space. Richie swore that time moved at a different pace depending on your mood.

And from years of unwitting practice, Richie decidedly thought time moved at a snail’s pace when you were shoulder deep in self-loathing. But according to the clock on his nightstand, it had only been just shy of an hour since he ran up here.

When his tears ceased, he stood up and moved as if he was on autopilot. His face felt stiff, sticky and hot, and his eyes felt swollen.

He walked downstairs and found his mother passed out on the sofa, in front of the television. He stared at her motionless form in disdain. If looks could kill, they say.

He walked to the dining room, seeking out the familiar oak liquor cabinet.

He crouched down, and carefully picked his poison. He picked up a half-full bottle of some type of rum and walked up to his room once more.

“Like mother, like son”, he whispered to himself bitterly.

He just wanted to be numb.

Tonight, was the first time he had sunken to her level, so to speak. Richie was not one to 'drown his sorrows’ with alcohol.

No, the drunken, sadistic psycho role was already taken in this family.

But tonight, he had reached his tipping point.

He removed the ornate glass top, and started taking sips straight from the bottle, shuttering as it burned its way down his throat.

Richie found himself lost in thought as his whole body warmed with each swallow of rum.

Richie first realized he was depressed at roughly age 14.

He had seen those anti-depressant commercials, talking about how one becomes “lethargic, disinterested, persistently feeling sad and empty”.

But “trashmouth” Tozier wasn’t one to just lie down and take it.

He tried his best to be happy.

He would try to stay out of the house as often as possible and spend time with the fellow losers as much as he could.

He would crack perverted jokes, clown around, tease and poke fun, but at the end of every day, one thing remained.

He had to go home to that hell hole and feel the weight of the father who doesn’t know him and doesn’t care.

He had to go home and feel the burn of a mother who despises him.

And then be left alone with his thoughts.

And sometimes, Richie thought his own mind was worst of all.

His home life aside, he also was forced to face two things consistently.

First being that he felt replaceable, and disposable at best.

The losers club, that glorious lucky 7, in his opinion, didn’t need Richie to be as perfect as it was.

His friends loved him, he knew that. And god, the feeling was mutual. But even still, the nagging thought remained.

You see, everyone has a role.

There’s Beverly, the courage of the group.

Then there is Bill, the unofficial leader.

Then there is Stan who is the reasoning, and Mike is the kindness.

Then comes Ben who is the knowledge.

And of course, there is Eddie Kaspbrak, the nurturer of the pack.

But what was Richie?

The court jester?

A placeholder?

A 'waste of space’?

And he wished his thoughts ended there, but that would be too simple.

Oh, how Richie longed for things to be simple.

When your life is one big convoluted shit show, the last thing you need are romantic feelings.

Especially not unrequited feelings for your male best friend, without one fucking soul knowing.

There were so many reasons why Richie was so in love with Eddie, but the biggest was Eddie’s gigantic heart.

And worse yet, was the realization that Eddie didn’t deserve to be stuck with someone as worthless as Richie.

But Richie knew he would never be so lucky to have him feel the same way in the first place.

He couldn’t decide which thought hurt worse.

Richie sat on his bed, headphones blasting in his ears.

His vision was fuzzy around the edges, and his head felt like it was stuffed with cotton.

He rested it back on his headboard and picked at the frayed hole in his jeans.

Why didn’t he feel better?

Why wasn’t his mind blank?

Richie tried to stand up, and ended up landing hard on his knees.

“Shit….I can’t fucking walk right, but I can’t shut my mind the fuck up?”, Richie mumbled angrily.

He slowly pushed himself up, and shuffled to his desk.

He slid open the drawer and pulled out his pocket knife.

He flipped open the blade and observed how it glinted in the dim bedroom light.

Richie smiled sadly as he ran his finger along the cold, smooth length of the blade and thought to himself, 'Maybe I can just shut my mind up forever some other way.’

Richie’s mind was made up.

He couldn’t take one more day, one more hour, one more minute of hating the skin he was in, and everything inside of that shell.

Suddenly, he had the urge to call Eddie.

He grabbed the house phone off the cradle, and went back to his room and locked the door.

He sat on his bed and dialled the number he knew by heart.

Eddies groggy voice came on the line after 3 rings.

Richie sighed into the phone at the familiar voice, before he slurred out “Hello, Eddie Spaghetti. I’m sorry its so late, I woke you up.” Eddie didn’t skip a beat before saying, “Rich, don’t fucking call me that. And are you drunk, dude?” Richie lets out a hiccup as if on cue, and leaned his flushed cheek onto the receiver.

“Maybe. But that doesn’t matter. All that matters is I got to talk to you one last time. Because you’re most important to me. Did you know that, Eds? God, I hope you know that. Just promise me you’ll never change, Eddie.”

Eddie broke out into a cold sweat, panic making his heart jolt into overdrive, and he began to yell into the phone, “Richie, what you do you mean 'last time’? What’s wrong? Are you OK? RICHIE?!”.

Eddies stomach dropped when he heard the deafening silence, a click, and then a dial tone.

Eddie had never pedalled his bike so hard in his life.

He muscles were screaming at him, burning as he furiously pumped his legs to go faster, faster, faster.

He needed to get there in time.

Eddie didn’t know what happened, but he wasn’t going to wait until it was too late to find out.

He made it there in half the normal amount of time as usual, and ran through the front door without stopping.

He thudded upstairs, panting from exertion and anxiety.

He went to turn the knob on Richie’s door, but it wouldn’t budge.

Eddie felt like there was a timer ticking down ominously overhead, and it nauseated him.

He thought quickly.

He ran to the master bedroom and whipped open one of Mr. Toziers drawers.

Eddie knew he was a dentist, and was praying there was some dental tools somewhere, anywhere.

“Yes!”, he yelled out loud, grabbing some sharp, surgical steel tools.

He grabbed a handful and darted to his door.

As luck should have it, the first one Eddie shoved in the keyhole popped the lock open, and Eddie tumbled inside, gasping for breath.

Eddie went cold with what he saw.

Richie was on the bed, slumped sideways, whimpering softly, while blood ran out of a cut on his left wrist.

Blood slowly dripped to the carpeting below.

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no….Richie! What did you do, Rich? Oh my god, what the fuck did you do?” Eddie cried, as he desperately pressed the blanket to the wound.

Eddie didn’t expect Richie to answer, but Richie groaned and swivelled his head towards Eddie, and opened his eyes, trying to focus.

“Eds….Hi. You aren’t supposed to be here…You can’t be here. Stop…please leave.”, Richie said, starting to cry.

Eddie moved the blanket to look at the cut.

It was fairly long and moderately deep.

However, thankfully, Richie didn’t seem to know that when suicide was the desired option, cutting lengthwise is deadlier than cutting across.

Richie could have stitches.

Eddie thanked his lucky stars, and started to yell “What were you thinking? Why would you do this, Richie? Why? We love you, I love you!

Richie scrunched his face up, and looked away.

He just cried and cried, and Eddie leaned forward and leaned onto his chest, listening to his heartbeat. A steady, rhythmic reminder of what Eddie almost lost.

After Richie had managed to catch his breath, he spoke softly “I’m sorry…but.. I’m just a mistake, Eds. I have no purpose…I have no reason to stay. I have no one who loves me. And not just the losers…I mean the real kind. Like, capital "L” love. And the fact is, no one ever will. And I’m tired of being reminded why every day…“ he trailed off, his gaze fixed to the wall.

Eddie never thought he would say what he was about to say out loud, but he also never thought that he’d be here with Richie, after a suicide attempt.

After that, nothing seemed as scary to him anymore.

Eddie gingerly grabbed Richie’s hand before beginning, "Rich, this is not the way I ever wanted to do this. In fact, I never thought I would be doing it in general. But if manning up and confessing my feelings to you is what it takes to make you want to stay around today, tomorrow, and the next day…well, I will say it until I’m blue in the face” He paused, and took a deep breath.

Richie turned and looked at him, and furrowed his brow in confusion.

“I love you, Richie. I love you. And fuck, I need you. And yes, in that "capital L” way. Tonight made me realize, I should of said things like this when I had the chance. You are MY purpose.“, Eddie admitted I’m a rush, his cheeks blazing while he gripped the bed like a vice.

For a moment, Richie just stared, eyes wide and glossy.

Richie spoke so softly then that Eddie had to strain to hear him.

"Fuck, Eddie. I love you too…and I want to believe that…I really do…But after what happened tonight, I feel like you might say anything to give me 'proof’ that this life is worth living”.

Eddie bit his lip, and thought.

Proof?

Fine, Eddie would give him proof.

“Do you remember that summer when we were 13, after all that shit went down…the blood pact we made? You know more than anybody I can’t stand any kind of germs or bodily fluids. But in that moment, it didn’t matter. So I bit the bullet, and I cut my palm and mingled blood with you guys. Because we had something so important to promise and to prove.” Richie looked up and nodded.

He looked like he had aged a year all in one night.

Eddie began again, “Well, I will prove what I said to you just now is true, just like 4 years ago.” Eddie reached out and picked up Richie’s arm so gently, as if Richie would shatter at any moment.

He looked at the cut, which had stopped bleeding some time ago, but was still fresh and unscabbed.

Slowly, Eddie bent down and pressed his lips to the cut, making a point to linger.

Eddie pushed the raging neurotic thoughts aside, as he wiped the small spot of blood from his lip.

Richie stared, mouth hanging open in shock, but Eddie saw what he was hoping for in his eyes. Trust.

Richie didn’t know if it was possible to fit any more adoration for this boy inside of him.

How lucky was he for the chance to love him this much?

Richie hugged Eddie to him hard, knocking the breath out of him.

“I believe you….I believe you.”, he whispered into Eddie’s ear.

Eddie pulled back and rested his forehead against his. Richie studied the face before him that he knew better than his own.

Too many emotions were trying to crowd into his heart at one time. But above the guilt, shame, and surprise, one shined brighter than the rest. Love. And it was so pure, brilliant, and blinding. It cleared away so much of the dark fog.

Richie found himself thinking that now he knew exactly why he had made it through the torment of that summer 4 years ago. And why tonight had ended the way it did. The 'nurturer’ of the lucky 7, nurtured his heart in the special way no one else ever could, or would.

Eddie smiled at Richie, and slowly leaned in and pressed his lips to his. It was chaste, soft, and warm. It spoke volumes to both boys without saying a word.

“I’ll kiss all of your wounds away, if you let me, Rich. I promise.”

And for the first time in the longest time, Richie allowed himself to believe that.


End file.
